


Somewhere Else

by Windify



Series: The Katana Chronicles [3]
Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (TV 2003), Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types
Genre: Assassin - Freeform, Dark, Foot Leonardo (TMNT), Leonardo-centric (TMNT), Memory Loss, Mind Control
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-17 21:34:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28732026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Windify/pseuds/Windify
Summary: There was something familiar about the three enemies. Something that made him thinking about them all the time.Red, purple and orange.Why was it so hard to kill them?
Relationships: Leonardo & Shredder (TMNT)
Series: The Katana Chronicles [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2099514
Comments: 2
Kudos: 34





	Somewhere Else

**Author's Note:**

> I can already tell that most of this series will be me tormenting our precious leader. :D
> 
> More and more I have the need to write some chapter-story but I have the feeling it’d end catastrophically. Well, this is one of my ideas (at least for now in one-shot form), so if you could tell me what you think about it, I’d really appreciate that!

He knew them, at least he thought so. But his mind was foggy, shadowed with simple tasks and orders he was given. There wasn’t any space for pointless thoughts, he should stay focused on his mission.

But for some reason, he couldn’t get them out of his mind.

It was… disturbing, to say the least. Had his Master found out that something was bugging him, it wouldn’t end well. He wasn’t supposed to have second thoughts. He wasn’t supposed to have his _own_ thoughts, even. He was intended as a fighter, as Master’s personal assassin, not thinker. 

He shouldn’t be thinking about them.

Yet, here he was.

Despite his perfect training, he didn’t remember much. He never did, not really. For him, the only important things were identification signs of his targets. As soon as he spotted them, nothing could help them.

He always eliminated his target. No one got away, no one escaped him.

Maybe that was why he remembered them. Because they were the only ones still breathing.

They were the only ones who were able to resist him. He didn’t know why it was so hard to kill them, the only thing that mattered was that they were still alive. He had tried many times, too many for his and his Master’s liking, but they seemed indestructible.

They were making him wary, kept him on his tiptoes all the time. They were dangerous and skilled and theirs technique was so similar to his own that it was making him feel vulnerable and weak.

He couldn’t afford vulnerable and weak. His Master did not like anything less than perfect, and what wasn’t perfect had to be mastered. He still remembered the pain, still heard himself sceaming, because Master’s methods were effective, and effective did not meant pleasant.

Repeating that would only make him even weaker.

And he couldn’t be weak because unlike him, they always attacked together. Sometimes they were four, sometimes five, but most times they were three.

Red, purple and orange.

When he saw them for the first time, he hesitated. The colors confused him, knocked him off balance without knowing why. He heard their hearbeats speed up, heard their silent gasps. He saw how they lowered their stances and guards and instead of using their own confusion to strike, he just watched them for a little longer before he had remembered his orders and attacked.

All three were screaming. They were talking, saying things that didn’t make any sense. “What have they done to you?” they had asked in disbelief, as if he was supposed to know the answer – as if he was supposed to know _them_.

The fight was over soon, the three targets getting away before he could finish them.

That night, he killed the few Foot ninjas that were with him. He knew they saw his hesitation and he couldn’t allow them to report his mistake to Master.

From that night, he found himself fighting them more often than not. At the beginning, they were pulling their blows. But he wasn’t a fool, it wasn’t easy to trick him and they quickly had to shift to using more strength if they wanted to survive.

It irritated him. No matter how many times he had fought them, somehow they always got away. He learnt to block their endless talking and when they saw it was doing exactly nothing with him, they soon stopped. Their fights had become never ending dance. Repeated, always the same, with no winner.

After every encounter with them, Master made sure to check on him personally. It wasn’t because he was injured, no – they had never managed to hurt him, not lethally. Master always talked to him, asked what he remembered, what he learnt.

He didn’t think much about it. After all, it wasn’t his place to question Master’s actions. His own answers were the same every time. Yes, unfortunately they were still breathing. No, he didn’t know how they managed to escape. No, they hadn’t talked to him again and yes, he had hit and cut them.

It was the only time he dared to lie to his Master. Maybe it was the uncertainity that kept him silent, but either way, he was breaking the rules for them. 

Why, thought? Why he couldn’t stop thinking about them? What was so special about the three enemies that his Master hated so much?

Why he felt like he knew them, down in his very soul? Why was his heart thrown out of beat every time he faced them, why could he predict their next moves so easily and correctly?

Why when he fought them, something in his mind, burried deep in the fog, screamed at him that this was so _wrong_?

“What is troubling you, Buki? I can sense the change in your mind.”

He froze. His breathing hitched, knowing he was caught. “The three targets,” he answered truthfully. Right now, lying wouldn’t help him. “I don’t know why it is so hard to kill them.”

 _They look like me_ , he wanted to say. _They fight like me. Why?_

He answered and stayed silent at the same time, the real questions unasked.

Metal hand gripped his chin, forcing him to look in his Master’s red eyes. He felt the claws scratching his face, but he couldn’t move. “They are trained,” his Master finally said, voice low and rough. “Just like you. But you, my Buki, are much more skilled than they are. You will defeat them, eventually. You wouldn’t want to disappoint me, would you?”

He swallowed, veins on his neck visible. “Never, Master Shredder.”

“That’s what I thought.” Shredder nodded. “Now come with me. I will occupy your mind with something useful.”

Even though he knew he wouldn’t like what will come, he followed his Master without protesting. He let Shredder cover his mind with fog once again, he let Shredder hit him and train him. He allowed himself to be lost in the welcoming darkness that was growing inside him.

But the constant feeling that he should be somewhere else never stopped bothering him.

**Author's Note:**

> If anyone’s wondering – _buki_ means _weapon_ in Japanese.


End file.
